“This is Harry Tuttle,” James removed his dark sunglasses and introduced his partner. “He’s a special agent with us. He’s new to fieldwork, so be gentle.”
I shook their hands like any grateful person looking for answers and help. Little did I know that I would never be able to discover their real agenda or the exact agency they truly represented. They were almost as mysterious as the legendary Men in Black.
“We found something interesting on the outskirts of town,” James said formally, “and I want you to examine it.”
I was delighted to be part of their investigative team. This would give me the opportunity to report on the bizarre happenings in Hemet. Moreover, I was sure he was eager to divulge whatever he had found. This was exciting detective work. There were so many baffling questions that I started to enter them in a notebook. I was hoping that these federal agents could snap all the puzzle pieces together and view the bigger picture.
As we rode together in James’s fancy black car with tinted windows, I watched them go through five checkpoints. They flashed their identification and were immediately released without the usual wait to check if they had the proper DDC—Driver Destination Clearance. They seemed neither concerned nor inquisitive about police checkpoints in the middle of the day. I would have been; it would have been my first question. When I brought up the subject, they poo-pooed it. That worried me until I realized that military roadblocks were probably a common practice in Washington D.C. and New York City. I still remembered the 1993 bombing of the Trade Towers. Six people died, but the Towers were impervious to terrorists.
My next anxiety centered on the mystery of my selection. I had no experience in investigating serious criminal cases, accidents, or unexplained phenomena. My job was boring. Who cared about a mid-level manager in a burgeoning bureaucracy? Why not the mayor or the police chief? Why was I the only one selected? My list of mysteries kept expanding by the minute.
As we reached the outskirts of the city, I had a funny feeling that these men were going to take me to a deserted spot, dig a shallow ditch, and leave me in the company of buzzards. It was a silly thought until we turned off the highway and drove down a dusty orchard road. Now I was having far more vivid premonitions of danger. I had to stop watching late-night horror films.
After traveling for eight miles down a winding road, we parked next to a small water pump station. Harry opened my door and ordered me to “get out”—not in a threatening voice, just one that carried no expression, no hint of what I might find. Once I got out, a vile, rotten smell almost knocked me over. Fifty feet ahead, I could see yellow tape surrounding a large area the size of a basketball court.
This was a mind-numbing spectacle, something right out of Steven Spielberg’s science-fiction extravaganzas, laden with suspense and a cast of hundreds. Platoons of men in yellow hazmat suits were busily setting up large white tents, unloading equipment, and stacking sealed boxes. Others in white lab coats combed the area with something resembling a metal detector. An army of well-outfitted soldiers patrolled the outer perimeter premier. Teams of dog handlers combed the area with leashed dogs, perhaps sniffing for explosives or anything unusual. This was a grand popcorn blockbuster.
We walked to the edge of the crater and stopped. James held out his arms and pointed to the middle of the cordoned-off section. “What do you think?”
“Looks like a 10-foot-sinkhole.” I turned to James. “Looks like nothing special,” I chuckled. For all I knew, it could have been a recently-dug pond for irrigation. “It’s just a hole. I suspect a farmer dug it to make an irrigation pond.”
James smiled. “We asked the owner and he said he knows nothing about it. We suspect it came from that meteorite.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What did you find at the bottom?”
“Nothing,” Harry said in his down-home-country twang. “It’s just a dry hole.”
“So why are we here and why the hazmat suits?” I replied.
“It’s what we found next to the crater.” James raised his hand and gestured me to follow him. Like an obedient child, I moseyed over to the other side of the crater, following slightly behind him. This all seemed so pointless and meaningless, but at least this gloomy cloud had a silver lining; the longer I stayed, the shorter my workday.
We soon came to a large black tarp and stopped. James grabbed one side and lifted it up, dragging most of the plastic groundsheet away. Immediately I could see where the horrible smell was coming from. Right before us was a fleshy mound of dead animal parts. Not just dead, but mangled and hideously deformed. Amidst the mass of bloody flesh was a confusing blob of barely distinguishable bits of yellow fur, a deer’s antlered head, and strips of rattlesnake skin. The gooey pile was so intertwined with animal parts that it seemed almost fused together. I stepped back. That was when I noticed millions of black flies buzzing around the rotten flesh. James had disturbed the hordes of flies when he had removed the tarp.
“What the hell?” I shuddered.
“That’s what we want to know, too,” James said as he kept swatting at the annoying insects. He put on a clear plastic medical mask and slipped on plastic gloves. He next grabbed a stick, moved closer, and pointed at the mass of decaying flesh, muscle, and bone. “If you look closely, you can see that there are at least fifteen distinct animals entangled. They appeared to have attacked each other. Notice the squirrel biting the deer’s leg.”
“But why?” I asked.
“It could take days to uncover the answer. I suspect some type of degenerative or infectious disease. Both the OEP and the Center for Disease Control should arrive within a few hours.”
“So, the crater has something to do with this?”
Naturally, I got no response. I could see that James and Harry did not want to provide further details.
After a few beats of silence, I asked, “Why are you showing this to me?”
“Frankly, you’re the only city official that agreed to come out. Mayor Quinn said he was not interested in examining dead animals. We went over to the health department and animal control, but they had no extra crews to investigate. And besides, they told us that your department had the bulk of city workers. What do you have now, over 100 operators?”
“More like 200. And growing.”
“Hey,” Harry said with a beaming smile, “I bet you get a fat paycheck.”
I could see that this was perhaps the perfect time to discuss recent incidents in Hemet. “Could this strange animal behavior have something to do with what’s happening in our city?”
James looked down and refused to make eye contact. “We’re not here to deal with local issues. Against our rules.”
“It’s just your typical local politics,” Harry interrupted James. “I’ve seen stranger. I remember when one town outlawed all guns. A week later another town protested and made it illegal not to own a gun.”
“But this is different,” I explained. “Our city officials are going crazy.”
“So, what you’re saying is that the locals have gone loco,” James grinned.
“Well, not everybody. Just those who were in town during the meteorite explosion. They’re the ones who have changed.”
“Changed?” James stared at me.
“I mean everyone’s trying to control everybody.”
“Isn’t that just human nature? You know, control the other person before he can control you,” Harry said. “We’ve been doing that in Washington for decades.”
“Putting up roadblocks all over the city just to check on peoples’ driving destinations isn’t human nature, it’s insane!”
“They did that in the former Soviet Union. Did that for decades,” James said. “Everyone had to take pre-determined routes. Nobody could leave for another city without proper authorizations. Even road maps were banned. Nothing new.”
“But we’re not in a police state.” I was getting frustrated. “I mean, we’re not supposed to be.”
“You know what I think,” Harry said
. “You’re just having what they call an ‘experiment in democracy.’
Hey, nobody said it would be perfect. Is the general public complaining?”
“Well, no, not really,” I hated to confess.
“There you have it.” Harry cocked his head to one side. “Why fix something if it ain’t broke?”
“You know something you’re not telling,” I shot back. I knew they were playing cat-and-mouse games with me. I just could not understand why.
James eyed his partner. “Well,” he drawled. “We wouldn’t be in our position if we did not know something more than you. Believe me, we just don’t get involved in local squabbles. We’re only investigators, not politicians.”
“But you’re investigators with some authority.”
“Not really,” James explained. “We’re just regular grunts who write reports that nobody reads. Don’t take this stuff too seriously. Government is always banning silly little things. Get over it.”
“This is different,” I said.
“How?” Harry asked. “I mean in my hometown, it’s illegal to ride an ugly horse. And we have some really dirty-ass-looking horses. And I once got a ticket for driving a black car on Sunday.”
I stood there feeling lost.
“You think that’s crazy,” James became animated. “Why, in Oklahoma it’s illegal to shoot a whale. Yeah, you heard me right. In land-locked Oklahoma. But down the road in Tennessee, a whale is the only animal hunters can shoot from a speeding car. Don’t that beat all.”
“You’re making this up,” I said.
Harry put up his swearing hand. “All true. So help me.”
James looked at his wristwatch. “I think it’s time to get back.”
“Wait!” I stretched out my arms. “You know something odd is happening here. How many other fireballs have there been?”
James frowned slightly. “We cannot talk about other investigations. Against policy.”
Harry guided me back to their vehicle and drove me back to my office just before the lunch hour. They had told me so little that I could have found out more by reading one of the supermarket tabloids. So much for the information-gathering services of the U.S. Government.
* * * * *
I decided to stay at the office and forget lunch. I only wanted to sulk and stew in my own anxiety juices. I had expected much more assistance from a federal agency. I was begging for help, and they were more interested in showing off their mangled animal carcasses.
Before I could resume my office work, Sarah greeted me at my office doorway. She waved with the tips of her fingers and displayed a timid but heartwarming smile. I thought I heard her giggle.
She never visited me at work. I slid out of my chair, stood, and ventured a short distance. “What are you doing here?”
“Should I go?” She glanced down at the floor, appearing sheepish.
“No, I’m glad you’re here,” I said eagerly, “but why now?”
“It was slow at the store. Not too many customers of late. And I had a doctor’s appointment downtown, so I took the day off. How about lunch?”
“How did you get here?”
“The bus. You know I’m taking the city bus until I get my car back. If the authorities ever return it.”
I understood the problem. So far, the city had refused to return the vehicles of DED violators. They were even talking about confiscating them and selling them at public auction. That was completely unfair, but fairness seemed to have currently lost its sparkling attraction. “Yeah, lunch sounds fine.”
We walked some distance to the new Nick’s Casablanca Café. Nick had been a fanatical fan of Humphrey Bogart’s Casablanca and had spent lavishly to recreate Bogart’s famous French colonial casino and bar in Hemet. He had done such a wonderful job that I expected a piano player to start singing “As Time Goes By.”
I had known Nick Gillis, Jr. since my college days and enjoyed our little chats during my lunch hour. His father, who had fought against General Rommel’s Afrika Korps in Libya, had established the business years ago. When Nick took over ownership, he remodeled it with a large dining hallway, high arched ceilings, and reddish Spanish tile. The place was scattered with tall feather palms potted in stone Moroccan jars. It was perfect, right down to its dim table lamps adorned with metal shades and hanging beads. It was a movie fantasy worthy of worship. Although fabulous and extraordinary, the place was almost completely empty.
I turned my attention to Sarah and could see that she had something on her mind. She seemed pensive and moody—not a good sign. “I have something important to say,” she said breaking the silence. “I think we should terminate it. I mean break off our divorce proceeding. We’re getting along much better. Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah, that’s plausible.” Before I could continue, Nick rushed up to our table.
“Bon Jour, Spencer!” Nick was sharply dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie. “And who is this charming mademoiselle?” He gently raised Sarah’s hand and kissed it. I had a sudden tinge of jealousy.
Nick was half-French and half snake charmer. He was handsome, suave, fully loaded with charisma and had a romantic magnetism that most romantics would envy, especially his slight French accent. At our local college, my old gang of bachelors quipped that Nick could charm the panties off the most discreet woman within five minutes of his initial impassioned flirt. It must have been his pencil-thin mustache and meticulously styled dark hair.
“I heard you’re in charge of the DED,” Nick murmured as he nervously wiped his hands with a small white towel.
“I’m one of the big cheeses,” I bragged.
“Then you’re responsible for all of this disarray.” Nick’s eyes swelled with anger.
“I’m only second-in-charge,” I pleaded.
“You’re ruining my business. People are afraid to go out since you made it a crime to drive. We’re being locked down and locked out as if we were the epicenter of the Bubonic plague. Nobody books parties. It’s too odious to get city permission for everyone to attend. Your imbéciles are bankrupting me.”
I leaned straight up in my chair. “It’s not my fault. I just work for the city.”
“That’s what everybody says. I talked to the Mayor, and he blames the City Council. City Council blames DED. And now who do you blame?” Nick threw his towel on the table. “Nobody wants to take responsibility.”
“Honestly, we were only trying to help people. That’s all.”
“You should be more careful with the lives of others,” Nick said. “We’re not yours to play with. I feel that war is coming. Be prepared. It’s going to be us against them!”
I cocked my head to one side, surprised by Nick’s intensity. It was not one group against another. We were all the same. At least that was what most people believed. But something had changed. People were getting into combative disagreements. Tempers flared. Hostility had replaced hospitality; malice had crushed harmony. Hate reigned supreme. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe we had diverged into a violent us-versus-them society. I shook my head in disbelief. That could not be. We were all the same people. We are them; they are us.
“Can’t we all just get along?” Sarah insisted.
“Non!” Nick’s face soured even more. “It’s too late to reconcile. Gone too far.”
“I could mediate,” I said. “I could make it all better,” I lied.
“We must fight or flee. That is our only remaining choice.”
“The city is not your enemy,” I said without thinking. I hated the thought of defending the offenders. I was just as trapped as Nick. I was making excuses for the forces of injustice. I supposed it had something to do with some unconscious instinct, some defense mechanism to protect my livelihood. Besides, nobody wanted to be a traitor to his co-workers or boss. I had to fight my natural sense of self-preservation.
Sarah looked up at Nick imploring, “We’re not too thrilled with what the city is doing. In fact, I hate it.”
Nick sat next
to her. “Bravo. At last someone willing to stand defiant and assault the Bastille.”
I looked around the room to see if anyone was listening. The only occupied table was on the other side of the room. I motioned Nick to inch closer to me. “We’re trying to do something. We have held secret meetings to discuss what to do. You can come to the next one,” I proposed.
Nick stopped and looked around his eating establishment. “Maybe.”
“It’s just a little informal discussion group,” I said.
“I’ve got to be careful. Someone is watching me.” Nick eyed the darker corners of the room.
I sighed. The people spying on him were probably mine, except that I should have known about any surveillance of Nick’s restaurant. Brian was supposed to inform me about everything that Jack commanded, unless, of course, our illustrious city manager instructed Brian to tell nobody of his plans. I got the feeling that Brian was working only for Old Fish-Eyes. I could feel an instant headache rippling across my forehead.
Nick leaned over and whispered, “They think I’m a terrorist.”
“What?” I almost shouted.
“I only called City Hall to complain a little. That’s all. And now strangers in black suits follow me day and night.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked. I felt sheepish and conflicted. I did not have the heart to tell him that my department was probably responsible for his distress.
“I should flee,” Nick said. “You know, fly with the wild geese before our wings are broken or clipped. Might just fly out one of these days. I have a beautiful Piper Navajo at the airport. If things get too rough, I will take to the airways. I will not put up with this insensé nonsense forever. You should come with me. Both of you.”
“We can’t forsake our friends,” Sarah said. “We’re not going to surrender. We’re not jellyfish. We have backbones. This is our home, not some banana republic.”
We Are Them Page 15
